Between Storms
by Clockwork Storyteller
Summary: Rainstorms can cleanse, they can give much... but they are also capable of taking away and making a mess. (Itacest) [Completed]


_The water lapped over the boat and lightning crackled. Feliciano disappeared from sight. He did not call for help, nor did he scream in fear. The only words out of his mouth were. " Ti amo, Lovino! Per sempre!" Lovino called back, "It's_ Ti voglio bene, _Feliciano! You're Italian!" He shook in fear as he tried to close the gap between them, but it was useless. Feliciano did not hear him. Lovino did not see Feliciano, either. ._

It had been ten years since the storm, still those last words he had ever spoken to Feliciano haunted him. Feliciano had spent what was possibly his last breath confessing his feelings for Lovino and all he had done was tell him that he was using the wrong phrase. Of course Feliciano had known what he was saying. How could he have been so stupid? He cursed himself for the billionth time and was about to bury his head in his hands and scream when he heard a knock on the door. He looked at his watch. Too late for it to be a delivery of mail or a package. It was nearly nine, he furrowed his brows, trying to recall if he had ordered a pizza or a stripper or... _anything_. He usually kept to himself, a shut away existence that could only be called mournful. He opened the door and found a man, drenched from the rain, a broken umbrella in his hand and a smile on his face. Lovino couldn't help feel that this man was familiar in some way, though he hadn't yet seen much of him nor even asked his name. Something just called to him. As if it were a connection far deeper than just passing strangers or coworkers.

"Sorry to bother, sir. I haven't been in Rome in years and I got a little lost. Could you give me directions to this hotel?" The man pulled out a card with the hotel's name and stepped closer, his face finally illuminated by the light.

Lovino took the card and read it, wracking his brain for directions to the place. He began to describe the directions as he remembered them. He mentioned something only a local would know, the fountain with the "lack of nightly visitors." It was sarcastic, a comment meant to show the fountain was overcrowded at night. He was about to describe the fountain by its features instead when the stranger chuckled.

"My brother was always very vulgar about that particular fountain. He called it the 'Pissing Angels' fountain." The drenched man laughed.

Lovino's eyes widened. "Your brother?"

The stranger paused, answering in Italian. " Sì, mio fratello. Lovino."

Lovino choked, "Lovino? Lovino... _Vargas?_" The stranger took his hood off, revealing his mussed up hair and amber-colored eyes. A single odd curl stuck out of his hair and Lovino took a step back, putting his hand on his heart to make sure it was beating. The "stranger" smiled.

"Yes. He's my older brother. I haven't seen him in years."

"Shut up. Come inside. You'll catch your death. Don't worry about puddles on the floor or anything stupid. Just come inside." Lovino suddenly demanded.

"Excuse me?" The visitor stammered.

"For shit's sake Feliciano! Get inside and give me a hug and..." Lovino threw his arms around his visitor. "It's me. It's Lovino. Fratello!"

The visitor shoved him off. "I don't know how you know my name, but I can assure you, you are not my brother." He turned on his heel and started to walk back out into the rain, leaving Lovino frozen on the threshold. The stranger started to disappear from sight and Lovino once again remembered that school trip gone awry. Before he knew what he was doing, he shouted. "Ti Amo, Lovino! Per sempre!"

The lost, drenched man turned around. "Lovino?" He stood still and felt so confused. It was impossible. No. He had come to pray for Lovino's soul. He had come to pay his respects. He hadn't come to see his brother. Especially when one no longer existed. His life shattered and fell around him, all except that one moment when he was fourteen years old. He had finally said words he had felt for what seemed like eternity only to have them lost to the unforgiving night that stole his beloved away. He felt he couldn't breathe. All the nights of blaming himself, all the moments of guilt that pulled and tore at him dissolved and melted away.

Lightning struck, lighting up the kind soul who had opened up the door at such a late hour. The pair took a step forward, each desperate to be back in the arms of the other. Finally, Feliciano ran, throwing his arms around Lovino desperately. He wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to know him. He wanted to love him, and be with him. He just wanted Lovino. He begged the sky and stars he could not see that he be given the chance. He kissed Lovino's cheeks, an act that could be forgiven because it was simply a greeting in Italy. It didn't have to mean anything to Lovino. It just had to be meaningful to him. He could pretend. He could pretend forever. As long as Lovino was by his side, in his life, Feliciano could pretend the words in the violent waves meant nothing. He could pretend his love wasn't passionate. If it meant he could be with Lovino, he could pretend forever.

He didn't know he wouldn't have to. Slowly, over the course of the decade they had spent blaming themselves for the other's disappearance, Lovino had fallen slowly for Feliciano. As the older Vargas led the smaller one inside, the gentle touch and incessant thundering of his heart told Feliciano that there was something hidden from plain view, something deeper.

"Lovi?" He softly called as the older of the pair drew him a bath.

"Yes?" Lovino answered gently.

"I love you." Feliciano spoke in English, hiding behind the ambiguous meaning of the English phrase.

"Anch'io ti amo, Feliciano." Lovino replied easily. He had been whispering those words to a photograph for months. Saying them aloud now, to his actual beloved just felt natural. So right and perfect. Finally, he could stop hating himself for having dared Feliciano to watch the storm with him on the bridge. Finally he could kiss the lips he had yearned for. Finally. Ten years broke over the side of the tub, water lapping the edge as Feliciano lowered himself in.

Ten years shed their dark and grim thoughts, a decade of guilt washing off as easily as dirt in his hands. The warm water was different than the cold he had been submerged in that night ten years ago. It felt right, to hold Lovino by the hand as warm water soothed him. This time the storm brought them together. Last time it had torn them apart. The sky cleared for the first time in ten long years and the Vargas loves saw the sun. They were warmed. They were visible. The storm was finally gone.

The End.


End file.
